ue he had told me, half an hour before, when I asked
him for my pipe, to go to hades, but I did not have to go unless I
wanted to. And he was gone first. I saw something sticking out of the
breast pocket of the dead Confederate, and could see that it was my
pipe. Then I thought of the foolish remark I made to the captain, to
kill that long-legged rebel and get my meershaum. God bless him, I
didn't want anybody to kill him for a bad smelling old pipe, and I
wondered if that remark would be registered up against me, in the great
book above, when I didn't mean it. I tried to make myself believe that
my remark did not have any influence on the man's fate. He just took
his chances with his comrades, and was killed, no doubt, and yet it was
impossible to get the idea off my mind that I was responsible for his
death. Anyway, I would never touch the confounded old pipe again, and
if I ever heard of his mother or sister, after the war was over, I would
stand by them as long as I had a nickel. An ambulance was sent for and
the dead and wounded were placed in it, and we went back to town, a sad
procession. There was no need to detail any mourners for this occasion,
and there was no straggling for watermelons. Everybody was full of
sorrow. The next day there was a Union funeral in that Southern town,
and the three Union boys were laid side by side, while a little, to one
side my Confederate was buried, receiving the same kind words from the
chaplains. As a volley was about to be fired over the graves, I picked
a handful of roses, buds and blossoms, from a rose bush in the cemetery,
and went to the grave of the Confederate and tenderly tossed them upon
the coffin. The horse doctor saw me do it, and in his rough manner said,

"What you about there? It ain t necessary to plant flowers on the graves
of rebels.

"O, no, it isn't necessary, I said, as the volley was fired over the
graves, but it will make his mother or his sister feel better to know
that there are a few roses in there, and it won't hurt anybody. I will
just play that I am the authorized agent of that Confederate soldier's
sister.

"O, all right if you say so, said the horse-doctor, as he drew the
sleeve of his blue blouse across his eyes, which were wet. The last
volley was fired, and the soldiers returned to camp, leaving the dead of
two armies sleeping together. As I went in the chaplain's tent and sat
down to think, the chaplain handed me something, saying:

"Here